


In the Bleak Midwinter

by aewriting



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Dog in peril, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Jesse Manes is His Own Warning, M/M, Manipulation, Sexual Content, Threats of Violence, Unethical Experimentation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting
Summary: "In the end, none of it had mattered.Not the perimeter alarm Alex had so carefully installed around his property.  Not the favors he’d called in from his decade of service. Not the hours he’d logged poring over Project Shepherd files.No, they’d gotten him on a normal Wednesday, up in Albuquerque, right before Christmas."When Alex and Michael are caught by Jesse and imprisoned together, they find themselves facing increasingly desperate circumstances. Will they be able to find a way out when it's clear that Jesse has no plans to let them out alive?
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 44
Kudos: 207





	In the Bleak Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [see_addy_write](https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/gifts).



> This is my Roswell Secret Santa fic for see_addy_write.
> 
> Addy said that she loves Malex and Echo, as well as "angst with happy endings and all whump (physical and emotional)."
> 
> And this is where my brain went! A prison story with a very awful Jesse Manes at the helm. Thank you so much to Addy for the prompt.
> 
> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS on this one. 
> 
> I will give one major spoiler right at the beginning, because I think it can be particularly difficult - there is a scene where an animal is in danger. Ultimately, the animal is fine, but there is peril. Again, please be aware of the warnings.

In the end, none of it had mattered.

Not the perimeter alarm Alex had so carefully installed around his property. Not the favors he’d called in from his decade of service. Not the hours he’d logged poring over Project Shepherd files.

No, they’d gotten him on a normal Wednesday, up in Albuquerque, right before Christmas.

Alex had debated going. He knew it was going to be a mad house, with everyone trying to get last-minute Christmas shopping done. And he still had plenty of water and dry goods. But Buffy’s food was almost gone, and it was so much cheaper at CostCo. They had the big bags there, the brand she liked…

Later, he’d wonder if it would have mattered. If they would have just gotten him somewhere more local.

Or if it wasn’t as crowded, maybe someone would have noticed the gun at the small of his back in the parking lot, as he was loading the big bags of dog food in the trunk. That was always hard, physically – it unbalanced him, required a lot of concentration. He hadn’t noticed.

No one had noticed.

Not when he was shuffled into his own back seat, not when the syringe entered his neck, and not when he, captive in his own car, was sped away to god knows where.

It’s been days. He knows this, despite the lack of windows and clocks. Days since he’s taken medication, days since he’s showered or shaved. Not a week yet, he doesn’t think.

Days since he’s spoken. Days since he’s eaten.

He gets water. Occasionally.

It’s disconcerting. He doesn’t know who has him. He thinks probably his dad, but he doesn’t know. Like, it could be anyone, really. He did some _shit_ in the service. Plenty of people could want him dead, want information…

But no one’s asked him a single question. He hasn’t seen another person since waking up in this godforsaken cell.

***

In the end, none of it had mattered.

Not the relationship he’d started and ended with Maria. Not the months of trials, with his powers, that he had run through with Liz. Not the strangers he’d fucked and the alcohol he’d downed. Not the acetone or the fistfights.

No, when they got him –

And _yeah_ , they got him, all right. Came up behind him in the parking lot of the Pony, unseen and unexpected. Just a pinch on the neck and he was out within seconds.

Michael likes to think that maybe they drugged his drink, that maybe he was already at a disadvantage for the night. He knows, though… knows that he’d drunk enough to be stupid. Unobservant. Numb. How he’d wanted it.

And now he’s waking up, dressed differently, smelling like rubbing alcohol, with fresh needle marks on his arm.

In a cell.

A cell that gets significantly more chilling when a familiar man walks up to the glass.

“R-1,” Jesse Manes says. “Welcome.”

***

It’s been… a while since he last got water. He thinks this is officially the longest he’s gone without it now, longer than that training exercise out in the Mojave…

He’d always done pretty well with that wilderness shit. Thanks, Dad.

He tries to put the idea of water out of his head, which of course just makes it all the more present. Fuck, this isn’t amateur hour. He, he knows how to deal with shit like this. There needs to be a compelling alternative, something to get lost in.

He thinks about chord progressions. Songs from middle school, high school.

High school…

Guerin…

Guerin’s skin. The color of it, the feel of it, the marks and freckles. His own private map…

Well. Not _so_ private, in the end.

Fuck, he’s doing a bad job of this.

He’s still frustrated at himself when the chute opens and a water bottle rolls in. Oh thank fuck. Alex scrambles for it, unashamed, uncaps it and makes himself take slow, careful sips, tries to pace himself so he isn’t sick, but it’s so damn hard…

But then his hands are shaking, weak, and he’s, oh god, he’s dropping the bottle, it’s spilling, and _he’s_ falling too, and something is _wrong_ and –

Everything goes black.

***

Michael’s singing.

He’s been singing a lot since he got here. Takes songs – doesn’t matter the genre. Country, pop, rock… Changes the words. No real strategy to it. Sometimes he gets fancy and tries to make rhymes. Right now, it’s Sweet Child of Mine.

“ _Oh, oh, oh, ohhhh fuck you, Jeeesse Manes!_ ” He tilts his head back, really tries to shout, “ _Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhh fuck you, Jeeesse Manes!_ ” And then the big finale. “ _Fuuuuuuuuuck, fuuuuuuuuck you Jesse Maaaaaanes!_ ”

And there’s the man himself, standing right in front of the cell.

“You done?” he asks tightly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and _fuck,_ if that doesn’t remind him of Alex, damn…

Michael ignores his discomfort. Smiles. “Just warming up.” He takes a breath. “ _Jesse…_ ” he starts softly. “ _Hate you so much…_ ” he croons, to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody. “ _Wanna punch you in the face, then I’ll up and leave this plaaaace. Jesse_ – oh, fuck!” He reaches for his upper arm, where there’s a little dart.

“Show’s over, R-1.”

***

He’s in an operating room.

_Shit._

On instinct, he tries to sit up, assess what’s wrong, but…

Oh god, he can’t sit up, can’t sit up because he’s fucking _tied down._

Well… not tied, really. That sounds rudimentary. But he’s restrained. Flat on his goddamn back on a metal table. No shirt. Still no leg.

He’s trying to look around, but it’s hard. He has limited range of motion like this, but he can make someone out, to the side. A woman. Wearing a mask. Carrying, _fuck…_

“Please remain calm.”

Alex scoffs. _Calm?_ Fucking _calm?_

“Where am I?”

The woman looks down at him dispassionately. “I am about to make a shallow incision on your chest.”

No accent, that he can tell. Alex tries to catch her eye, uses his best “Captain” voice.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The woman lowers the scalpel and begins to cut.

***

The guy, the one that _isn’t_ Jesse, the one that’s holding him by his sore arm, he’s big. Really big. Built, too. Michael reaches out a little, with his mind.

Jesse seems to notice. “That won’t work here.”

“What?”

Jesse just huffs a little breath, keeps walking. “The walls in this part of the facility, they’re reinforced with a… special material. We’ve had plenty of time to figure out how to keep your kind from using their abilities.”

Michael swallows hard at that. Plenty of time. Plenty of time experimenting on other aliens. On his mother. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, you delusional asshole.”

“Sure you don’t, R-1.” Jesse turns to look at him. “Where we’re going, you’ll have your powers back, but mind my words, you try anything, we will not hesitate to knock you out again. And know that even if you get out of the room, your powers are no good in other parts of the facility.”

Michael eyes him. “You getting senile, Manes?”

Jesse smirks a little. “You should know that there will be consequences for disobedience,” and _fuck,_ doesn’t that send a chill straight down Michael’s back. It’s the way he says it, practiced. He wonders if he’s said that same thing, just like that, to his mom. To Alex. To others.

Michael forces himself to stay loose. Flirtatious, almost, and it’s a little stomach-turning, in this setting. “Hmmm, consequences, eh? Think I’ve played these kinds of games before.”

Jesse snorts. “I’m sure you have.” He eyes Michael. “In the bedroom? Or foster care?”

And that, that earns Jesse a hard glare. Jesse sees it and smiles, satisfied. Shit. Michael has to learn not to give him this kind of information. Not to let him know which arrows actually _hurt._

They reach a little antechamber, and Jesse turns to look him full in the face. “You _will_ do as I ask.”

With a shove, Michael goes stumbling into a very well-lit, sterile looking room, and there’s Alex.

***

There’s Michael.

Fuck.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

If Alex’s arms weren’t already strapped down above his head, he’d raise them. Surrender. Because this?

He should have expected it, maybe. He’d actually considered this scenario but never, never let himself really dwell on it.

For a moment, he hopes it’s an illusion, some mirage conjured up by his half-mad, starving brain.

But Michael’s coming nearer, looking so real, smelling like… like himself, and disinfectant.

Alex wants to say Michael’s name, say so much, but he _still_ doesn’t know what this is all about, who has them, and why. And… and even if he knew all that, then, well, these days…. He doesn’t know Michael. Not like he once did, not like he thought he did. And he doesn’t think Michael quite knows him either. But he still tries. Tries to speak a language with his eyes, with Michael, that’s rusty. Out of practice with disuse. A language that’s just theirs, but that they’ve never really gotten a chance to use. Not a dead language, exactly, more like one that was never fully formed. But he looks at Michael, and he tries anyway.

 _Don’t do something stupid, Michael,_ his eyes say _._

_Please, please, don’t worry about me. Do whatever it takes to save yourself, Michael._

And…

 _I love you, Michael_.

***

Michael’s been restrained so many times, he’s lost count. Lots of drunk and disorderlies, a time or six with some of the kinkier ladies of Roswell… but Alex…

He can think of once. Just the one time. They were in their early twenties, he can’t remember exactly how old. It was summer. He hadn’t even known Alex was in town until he was beating on the door of the Airstream, in a full suit, yelling for Michael to let him in.

Michael never asked why he was wearing a suit. Wedding? Funeral? Alex never told him. They barely talked.

They barely ever talked.

Somewhere after round five that weekend, Michael’d had the idea to use the necktie. He’d been cautious about bringing it up. He could tell Alex was nervous, but willing.

“You say the word, and we’ll stop,” Michael had said, whispered, really. “We don’t have to do it at all. Just… just want you, is all. I don’t care about this. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

Alex’s breathing was heavy, his eyes so dark. “No, do it. I want you to do it.” A beat. “I trust you, Guerin.”

So Michael had done it. Bound Alex’s wrists together above his head, careful – not too tight, but enough to feel it. He knew Alex could get out no problem with a little effort, with his new Air Force muscles. He could see the moment Alex stopped fighting and just relaxed, surrendered – so open to Michael as he touched him, teased him. Alex had made the best sounds, raw and unguarded. Begging him.

They’d never done it like that again.

Right now, seeing Alex spread out below him, looking at him, pinned into place like a bug, Michael wishes he didn’t have that memory.

“Heal him.”

Michael bites his lip, tastes the blood. “Can’t.”

“Heal him,” the voice repeats.

“ _Don’t,”_ Alex barely mouths, eyes pleading. It actually wasn’t… dissimilar from how he’d looked, all those years ago. Spent. Wrecked. Damn it. Michael wishes he didn’t remember.

“I… I can’t.” The wound isn’t bad, on Alex, just a cut, really, across his chest. It’s bleeding, but not badly.

Michael wants to snap the restraints holding Alex to the table, wants to break the goddamn door down and carry Alex the fuck out of here.

He starts coughing, then, notices the burst of pollen. It’s getting in his eyes, his lungs. Alex is coughing, too.

“We will try again later,” the voice says.

Michael feels the tranquilizer dart hit him. He’s out before he hits the floor.

***

Dad is circling him, and now he knows.

He’s not sure how to feel. There’s maybe some relief, he supposes. Like this isn’t… isn’t the fucking Russians or something.

But it’s his dad. And it’s him. And it’s Michael.

And that… that means it’s fucked. So damn fucked.

There’s fear, too much of it. He hates that there’s this much fear. But this is his nightmare come to life. His monster under the bed, his big bad wolf. So he decides to drop the stoicism he’s maintained till now. What’s the point? He’s seen the files. He knows his dad has more information than he does, about the aliens. And he has a real live one again. For now.

If he’s focusing on Alex, he’s not focusing on Michael. Time for a show.

“This my Christmas present, Dad?” Alex strains against the cuffs. “Kinky.” He gives a mean smile. “You’re getting more open-minded in your old age.”

The open palm hits him hard, right on the face. “Shut up.”

Alex keeps smiling, glad he got to him. His eyes flick to the uniformed woman next to his father. She’s eyeing the Master Sergeant. “Dad?” she asks. Manes narrows his eyes. “You said… you said he was a criminal.”

“He is,” Manes assures her quickly.

“And he’s your son,” she says. Jesse’s silence seems to confirm it for her. “My god…”

“Jones…” Manes warns. The woman shuts her mouth and eyes Alex, body tense. Jesse sniffs, once, like Alex is the most disgusting thing he could imagine. “Subject R-1 was unwilling to heal the test subject’s wound. It is my hypothesis that we may need to apply some additional pressure, add more… urgency to the situation.” Jones swallows slowly. She looks scared. She should be.

“Is R-1 awake yet?”

Jones glances down at her tablet. “Affirmative.”

Jesse nods. “Start a live feed to his cell.”

Jones clicks a few buttons. “Done.”

Manes nods. “Pull up a view of his cell in here.”

Jones nods, and Alex watches as crisp footage of Michael sitting on a narrow bunk is projected on the far wall.

“R-1?” Jesse asks. Michael startles, seems surprised to see the live feed. He rises from his bunk.

Jesse opens a little case, shows it to the camera. Alex can’t see it, but Michael can, apparently.

“Don’t,” Michael grits out, fists clenching at his sides. “Don’t fucking touch him.”

Manes shakes his head, barely. “That’s really your call, R-1. Either heal this cut,” he says, gesturing to Alex’s chest, “or I start using these.”

Michael leans his head back. “Fuck, Manes, I _can’t_. Dammit…” Michael runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I would if I could? I can’t… I can’t heal. That’s…” he bites his lip, pauses. “It’s not my power.”

Manes smiles. It’s big and genuine.

Alex closes his eyes. “Shit,” he mutters. Michael’s admitted to powers. Things would only get worse from here.

***

Michael’s alone in a cell, different weights in front of him.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Michael scrunches up his face, concentrating hard. Nothing happens. “Damn,” he mutters.

“Try again.”

If Jesse Manes thinks he’s going to be his fucking performing seal, he’s got another thing coming. “Sorry,” he calls out. “Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Pity.” The live feed flickers on again. Alex. Michael shakes his head. Damn. He should have known that Manes would hit back with this.

Alex looks like shit. His prosthesis is missing. His hair’s greasy and matted to his head, and his face is stubbly. Alex has never been able to grow a very thick beard, so the fact that it’s even visible speaks to how long Manes has had him.

“The test subject hasn’t been fed in a few days. Start with the lightest weight, the ten pound one, and he’ll get some water. Lift them all, and he gets food.”

All the weights elevate immediately, up, up, until they crash into the ceiling.

***

“People are going to notice that we’re missing. Michael and I.”

His father laughs. “They’ve already noticed. They’re not worried, though.” He’s seated on a chair, just outside Alex’s cell. “You were transferred. Niger, very urgent,” he says, with a mean smile. “And Michael… that’s a story. Seems a drifter got jumped outside the Wild Pony. Ended up nearly dying from his injuries. Multiple witnesses saw a curly haired man in a black cowboy hat fleeing the scene.”

Alex closes his eyes, sinks back onto his bunk, and tries to tune out his father.

They’re fucked.

***

After the first day, they start giving him a special container, for the vomit. It’s plastic, bright blue – Michael thinks it was a recycling bin in another life. They give him water and a “special drink.” He refuses it the first time they give it to him.

“I’d drink it, if I were you.”

“If you were me?” Michael repeats, arching an eyebrow.

“Specially made for your kind. Replenishes your electrolytes.”

Michael eyes it. “Or maybe it’s poison. Maybe it kills me.”

He can almost hear Jesse’s shrug over the speaker. “Or maybe I make the human test subject drink it. We know it’s fine for aliens, but we’ve never given it to a human before. We could see what happens.”

Michael uncaps it, guzzles it in one go. It does help, he thinks, begrudgingly.

***

It’s been a while now, since Alex last saw Michael. It was just the one time, with Alex strapped down and Michael looming over him, looking so very worried.

Dad, though, he’s seen every day.

He… chats with Alex. Sometimes just audio into the cell, sometimes the man himself. Sometimes he really exerts his dominance, ties Alex to a chair, gets in his face, roughs him up. There are never questions, really.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, son.”

Alex actually laughs a little at that. “Don’t I know it.”

Jesse rolls his neck. “It was a gamble, bringing him here.”

Alex rolls his eyes, tries to look bored. Listens intently.

“Obviously, you two were…” Jesse frowns, “… involved, back in high school. Thought you’d gotten it out of your system, though. But then there was that drive-in, with you in his truck like a damn lapdog.” He shakes his head. “After that, though…” He trails off. “We’ve had surveillance on him for years. You know… you know that he was with your friend. Mimi’s daughter?” Alex is silent, just stares at his dad. “Like, we’ve got them on tape. Together, in her bar. I could show you sometime.” Alex just shakes his head at him, rolls his eyes again – tries to channel all the mannerisms of his 17-year-old self, the one his father hated. His 17-year-old self when he still thought he had some kind of control over his own goddamn life. Stupid.

“There was a time I thought about maybe bringing her in, as leverage. Motivation.” Alex grips the chair involuntarily. “But she runs that bar. People would ask questions. Not that I don’t have my ways of dealing with that, of course, but it would be more complicated.” Jesse’s eyes narrow. “It became a moot point though, when that creature started fucking half the town again.”

He looks at Alex. “You into that, son? Some people are. One of my old CO’s, actually. Liked it when his wife slept around. Liked to hear about it. Liked to watch. Ruined his career when people found out.” Jesse gave a tight little shake of his head. “I wouldn’t put any perversions past you.” Alex just looks away, so over it. “I gave it maybe a fifty-fifty chance that you’d actually be an effective tool, that this _thing_ would give half a damn about you.” He tilts his head to the side. “Guess you’re good for something after all.”

“Fuck off, dad.”

***

He’s getting stronger. He can tell, and he knows Jesse and company can tell.

“Lift it again.”

He does.

“Again.”

He does.

“Again.”

He does.

***

Jesse hits him in the face, sometimes. Leaves marks. Making up for lost time, maybe? He’s got total control here, over Alex, over Michael. Growing up, there was school to consider. Jesse was good at hiding the evidence of his aggression. Here, though, he doesn’t seem to care.

Alex wonders, too, if it isn’t a show of dominance, not just for his behalf, but for Michael’s, too. Wonders if they make Michael watch, wonders if Michael cares.

Michael might be watching. It’s enough to make Alex gather up the blood in his mouth and spit it back in his father’s face.

***

Michael… he’s stopped singing. Stopped a while ago. He’s too exhausted.

***

His dad, he’s a shark. Constant motion. Predatory. Always knows when there’s blood in the water.

It’s Alex’s blood, today.

“You know what they’re capable of, son. You’ve seen the files.”

Alex stares at him. “I know what _you’re_ capable of. Saw that in the files, too.”

Jesse rubs tiredly at his face. “Ten years, son. Ten years in the military and you’re gonna cry to me about these creatures?” He shakes his head. “You didn’t learn a damn thing.” He takes a seat, opposite the glass. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but Jesse keeps going. “Thought I failed you, you know. I was just one man, and even with all the effort I put into you, your upbringing, you still didn’t turn out right. Thought the military could succeed where I couldn’t.” He shrugs. “I was wrong, obviously.”

Alex snorts a bit.

Jesse’s eyes narrow, and he leans toward the glass. “I had a backup plan for you, you know. Made it during that idiotic rebellious phase of yours.” He’s looking right at him, now, and Alex has to work hard not to flinch. “The aliens, certain ones, they can make people do things. If you didn’t get with the program, that was always an option. A sacrifice to the greater good. I wonder, now, if I should have done it anyway, before you blew them up to kingdom come.”

Alex feels cold all over. He knows he shouldn’t engage with this, _knows_ it, but…

“Done, done what?”

Jesse gives him a little half-smile. “I could have made you do anything, son. Could have had you join up of your own accord. Maybe settle down with a nice girl, have a few kids.” The half-smile’s a whole one, now. “Or I could have just had you slash your damn wrists out in the toolshed. All that godawful music you used to listen to, the makeup… no one would have batted an eye.”

Alex’s eyes are wide, just staring at his father.

“So consider yourself lucky. This?” Jesse says, gesturing to the cell. “This is me taking it easy on you.”

He grins.

“For now.”

***

Michael’s been sitting in the cell for a while, on the floor. He’s going over the different pieces of alien glass in his mind. Where he got them, where they slotted into the console. Without warning, the video feed comes on. Alex again. Michael allows himself a look. Alex is thin, getting thinner. Split lip, black eye. He looks sad, but then he looks up, eyes wide. “Guerin?”

Michael stands. “Alex? Are you hearing me right now?”

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He shakes his head. “You okay?”

Michael stretches out his arms. “I mean, no, but I’m not, like, bad.” He pauses. “You look pretty rough, Alex.”

Alex shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s my dad.” He slumps a little, comes closer to the camera, speaks low. “I’m so sorry, Michael. If I hadn’t – “

Michael holds up a hand. “Stop, just stop. It’s not your fault. Only one I’m blaming is that – “

Michael’s interrupted when a little chute opens, and a _dog_ enters the cell.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

Alex gasps. “Oh my god, is that… Buffy, oh my god!”

“Buffy?” Michael asks. “Wait, holy shit, is this _your_ dog?” Alex is nodding, almost wildly. Maria had mentioned that Alex had gotten a dog, but he’d never met it. “You named your dog Buffy?”

Alex keeps nodding. “Is, is she okay? Please check her for me.”

The dog is already bounding over to Michael, jumping into his lap. “Hey girl – it’s a girl, right? With a name like Buffy?”

“Yeah, yeah… that’s your name, isn’t it, girl? My good girl,” Alex mumbles.

Michael’s petting her, looking her over. He clears his throat. “Don’t know much about dogs, Alex, but she looks okay to me.” He laughs, just a little. “She’s friendly.”

“Sure is,” comes the voice over the loudspeaker. Michael and Alex both freeze. “You’ve shown us your telekinesis, R-1. Now it’s time to branch out.”

“Branch… branch out?”

“Handprints,” Manes says, over the speaker. “Leave one on the dog.”

“Wha-what?” Michael holds Buffy tighter, protective. “I, I can’t do that, man. You know that. It’s telekinesis or nothing.”

“I don’t believe that,” Manes says, coldly. “All of your kind have multiple power uses, though most have specialties. Every one of you can kill, with the handprints.” He gestures to the dog. “So give it a try.”

Michael hears Alex gasp. He can’t look at him. “You fucking monster,” he growls. “I won’t.”

“You either put a handprint on the dog, or we start getting creative with the human test subject.”

Michael feels sick. They’ve cut Alex’s audio, at this point. His eyes flick over to the live feed. Alex has dragged himself closer to the camera. He’s screaming, shaking his head.

Michael looks Buffy over. She looks good. Better than he and Alex do, honestly. But there, on her front left paw, there’s a little abrasion. Nothing serious at all. Michael heaves a deep breath. He grasps the little paw in his hand, inhales deeply, and concentrates.

After, when the blood has stopped running from his nose, after he’s retched up all the food from his belly and is just dry heaving bile, after Buffy’s been snatched from his grasping hands and whisked to god knows where, he realizes the video is still running.

“He’s going to kill you.”

Michael looks at Alex sharply. All his bravado is gone.

“Like, that’s what this is. I know it now. I’m an idiot. I didn’t know at first. Thought it was maybe just alien shit, but now… with Buffy, I know.”

“Buffy’s fine, Alex. I didn’t… I would never hurt her, you know that.”

Alex lets out an awful little sound. “Oh, but you will, Michael. You will. Because he’ll make you.”

“No –“

“Oh yes he fucking will. He’ll tell you to kill her. You’ll say no. Then he’ll say, ‘Would you rather kill the human test subject?’ And you’ll get all upset, and then he’ll start hurting me till you can’t take it anymore, and you’ll hurt Buffy. Cause you’ll think it’s the lesser of two evils. And on, and on.” Alex rubs his hands over his face. “Like, face it, we are fucked. We are so totally fucked.”

Michael frowns. “Alex…”

Alex wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. It comes back bloody, mixed with snot. “You know, when I confronted him about Project Shepherd, I hit him in the face with my cane. Knocked him out. Tied him to a chair. Actually…” Alex falters. “Actually fucking told him I would destroy the thing he loved, and I’d make him watch.” Alex laughs, then, dark and awful sounding. “That’s what this is, Michael. That’s all this is.” Alex licks at his lip. “Like, you being an alien? That’s a bonus to him, but… but I know how this ends. He kills my dog, he kills you, then he kills me. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just leaves me here to rot in my own filth. Or maybe he hands me a pistol and has me finish myself off.”

“Alex, no – “

“Michael,” Alex says emphatically. “Yes.”

***

“H-1?”

Alex raises his head and looks at the woman, Jones. “Yeah?”

“How long have you had your dog?”

“Fuck,” Alex mutters. “Really? You drag me in here to make me talk about Buffy?” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen some shit, you know?”

“No doubt.”

“But this?” He purses his lips. “This is so fucked.” He narrows his eyes at her. “What does he have on you, that you’re here, helping him with this?” She’s silent, just stares at him. “I know that none of this is official. Like, not for a while. What does he want with me and Michael? Just to experiment on us, hurt us?”

“How long have you had your dog?”

Alex sighs. “A couple months.”

The woman makes a note. “Describe, to me, your relationship with your father.”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m strapped to a fucking chair in his off-grid prison. My relationship with my father is _fucked,_ ” he replies.

“Have the two of you always had a contentious relationship?”

“Yes,” Alex says tightly.

“In your opinion, do you believe that your father has a personal vendetta against you?”

Alex’s eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this? There’s, there’s nothing to this that Dad doesn’t know. He knows why he hates me, why he’s hated me for years.” Alex tilts his head at her, studies her. “Unless he hasn’t told you, for some reason.”

She’s inscrutable, a great poker face, Alex thinks. “I’ll repeat the question, H-1. Do you believe your father has a personal vendetta against you?”

A deep sigh, now. “Yes. Of course he does.”

“Why?”

Alex closes his eyes. There’s no need to lie, at this point. “Because I’m gay. I’m gay, and I fell in love with an alien.”

***

They dose him with the pollen, and he comes to strapped to a chair, electrodes on him.

He’s actually been expecting this, some sort of interrogation. He’s surprised it hasn’t happened yet, and more surprised to see the woman, Jones, glaring at him.

“R-1,” she says, blandly.

“Michael, you mean?”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I suggest you answer them honestly.”

Michael draws a tired breath. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“What do you remember, about the crash?”

“Jack shit. Earliest memory I have is wandering naked through the desert and getting picked up by a trucker.” That much was common knowledge, in the newspapers and everything. He wasn’t giving anything away with that.

“Do you remember a ship? A vessel of any kind?”

“No.” Okay, so they might not know about the pods.

“The other children found with you, what were their names?”

Michael shakes his head. “No idea. They got adopted separately and – _fuck!”_ The electric charge startles him. It shouldn’t – he’d seen the electrodes as soon as he came to, but the shock still takes him off guard.

“Wrong answer, R-1. We know about your association with Max Evans and Isobel Evans-Bracken. We know they are aliens, same as you.”

Michael just shrugs. “Guess you have all the answers. So can you let me go?”

“Which one healed your hand? Or was it you?”

Michael bites his tongue, this time, when she shocks him.

“Who’s the killer? Or do the three of you work together?”

More shocks. More blood filling his mouth.

“When was your earliest contact with H-1?”

“Who?”

“The human test subject.”

Fuck, they’d given him a number, too. Alex was right; they weren’t getting out of here. And right now, he’s so, so tired of being hurt. What she’s asking, right now… it’s nothing they don’t already know. “I first met _Alex_ in middle school.”

“Who initiated contact, and when?”

“Contact? There were like, 90 kids in our class. Everyone knew everyone. Like, as soon as I got placed back in Roswell, we had to interact. That’s just how it is.”

She jots something down in her notebook. “And your sexual relationship? When did that start?”

“Wh-What?” Michael stumbles.

“The Master Sergeant has made it clear that the two of you have had sexual contact with each other dating back to when H-1 was 17 years old.”

Michael shakes his head. “Again, looks like you have all the answers. Not sure why you need me here.”

“So that’s when it started?”

Michael just stares at her. “Yeah.”

Her eyes narrow. “Why did you target H-1?”

“Why did I _target_ … the fuck?” Michael shakes his head. “No, you know what? I kissed Alex because he was the first person in my miserable life to actually give a shit about me, okay? I was living out of my goddamn truck and he… he let me stay in his tool shed. Gave me a guitar. Actually, actually fucking cared about me. I didn’t fucking target him… I, I kissed him because I loved him. We were together because I think… I think we loved each other.”

Michael remembers himself, then. “But that was a long time ago.”

***

When Alex regains consciousness, he’s strapped down again, in the operating room. His father is to his right, speaking in a heated whisper with Jones, who’s wearing scrubs and a mask. He can catch only bits and pieces of their conversation, their _argument_ , he realizes.

“Build _up_ to this, Master Sergeant,” says Jones.

“…. _enough_ time waiting. Need….” Alex strains to hear more. “… who’s in charge.”

Jones is shaking her head vigorously, “… can’t let you – “

And then his father, in one swift motion, has grabbed her scalpel.

“Let’s see how motivating you really are, son,” Jesse mutters, before dragging the scalpel straight across Alex’s wrist.

Alex knows, knows it’s bad. He can feel the blood leaving him with each beat of his heart, just spilling onto the sterile floor. It fucking _hurts,_ but he makes himself take calm, even breaths, and this… this has surprised him. He didn’t think his dad would just up and kill him. Even as he’s bleeding out, he’s thinking that this is too easy, that he’s missing something…

And then Michael is there, face ashen, above him. The restraints, the steel ones, snap, like they’re paper. And Michael’s there, rubbing his cheek, running a hand through his hair.

“Alex? Alex, baby?”

Baby?

“Michael?”

Michael’s shoulders slump. “Yeah, yeah Alex, it’s me, it’s me… Can you… fuck, can you look at me?” And Alex looks, tries to focus on Michael. He looks so worried. “Yeah, yeah, like that, like that.” Michael’s nostrils flare, and he looks over his shoulder, shouts. “We need some _fucking_ help in here, goddammit!”

“Heal him,” comes Jesse’s damnable voice.

“Fuck…” Michael mutters, and he rocks back on the balls of his feet. He’s crying, now, and he rubs at the tears with the back of his forearm. “Fuck,” he repeats, and it’s softer this time. He looks at Alex. “Okay. Okay.” He swallows, hard.

“Hey Alex?” he asks.

And Alex can barely keep his eyes open now, but for Michael, he’ll try.

And then he remembers. Remembers the scalpel, and the blood, and he’s _dying_ , and Michael’s here, and –

“I love you, Michael.”

And Michael just crumples, at that, bends over the table, holds Alex to him. “God _damn_ it, Alex, you dramatic fuck,” he mutters. “Like this? Like this?” He’s crying again, fresh tears on Alex’s neck. They’re warm, Alex thinks, detached.

And then Michael’s grabbing his wrist, wet with blood, warm and sticky to the touch, and he’s squeezing. “You know… you know I love you too, right? Always did.” He’s holding Alex tighter, now. “Fuck, Alex, come _on,_ come _on!”_

And then, all at once, there’s a wave of warmth moving through him, in him. He gasps, sits straight up. “Michael!”

And Michael has him by the shoulders now. “Alex? Alex?”

And it’s like, like it never happened. Like his father had never slashed his wrist, like he’d never lost the blood… but he _did._ He looks down, head too-clear now, and it’s everywhere. All over him, Michael, and the floor. And Michael – he looks wrecked. Pale, blood on his nose, his mouth, but Alex doesn’t care. He’s saved him, he’s _saved_ him. Alex circles Michael’s back and neck with his arms, pulls him down on top of him, hard. Kisses him. It should, it _should_ be off-putting. They’re filthy, but it’s not, it’s… the best thing, and Michael’s crying, they’re both crying, and he _feels_ the love here, so deeply, his love for Michael and, somehow, Michael’s love for _him_ and –

“That’s enough, R-1,” says his father, and Alex smells the pollen.

***

The handprint must be developing, because Michael can _feel_ Alex.

It’s actually…actually kind of nice. In this place, it’s nice to _know_ that Alex is alive, that he’s okay. It’s not, not _nice_ to know when he’s getting hurt, or prodded, of course, but it’s better than not knowing. So yeah, just having the link – it’s a good thing, Michael thinks.

And then there’s what he’s actually getting, through the link…

He thought it was wrong, at first. The, there’s no other word for it, the _love_ he was feeling – it couldn’t possibly be from Alex. Not for him, not like this. The drugs they’ve been giving him, or the healing, something, something must have amplified his own feelings, his own emotions. That’s what this is. It, it can’t be…

But the feeling persists. As his circumstances change, the feeling remains constant. And it feels, how to even say it? It _feels_ like Alex.

So he dares… he dares to hope. And he tries… tries to send his own emotion out to Alex, in the off chance that it _is_ him. It feels… oddly intimate, alone in his bunk, breathing deeply, eyes closed, just trying to send all of the love he has for Alex, all the care, the affection… even the concern and worry, just send it out to him. And he gets an answer.

The answer, it isn’t words, it’s a feeling. It’s warmth and comfort. It’s _Alex_ and…

It’s love.

***

_Crack._

Alex shakes his head, forces himself to keep his eyes open.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, what did you feel when R-1 placed a handprint on you?”

Alex looks away.

Jesse leans in, too close. “You know how this works, son. Would you prefer I get R-1 in here? Strap him down across from you here?” Jesse gives a smug little smile. “See if he can heal himself after what I do to him?”

They’ve got him hooked up to heart monitors and all sorts of other shit. His dad can tell he’s landed a blow, with that – Alex doesn’t even need to pretend like he didn’t.

“Fuck it,” Alex mutters, draws a deep breath, and starts talking. “I couldn’t really tell what he was doing at first, I’d lost so much blood…”

***

They don’t tell anyone about the connection. They never discuss it, really, but it’s somehow understood. That it’s for them, only for them. How to even explain it with words? It would be impossible to try.

The first time they are in the same room, after, Michael doesn’t even speak before crossing to Alex, running hands through his hair.

Alex seems startled. “Michael…?”

“We… we both know, now. How we feel.” He’s speaking carefully. Doesn’t want to, _can’t_ alert Jesse to the connection they’re sharing. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to waste time, is so _tired_ of wasting time, tells Alex so. “Any time I get with you, anything we get, I just… I want it, Alex.” He draws a shaky breath, then a steadier one. “I love you.”

And Alex is there, in his space, in his arms, and – “I love you, too.”

“R-1?”

And nothing’s a mood killer like the voice of Jesse Manes, Michael thinks. He feels Alex stiffen.

“You’re going to snap H-1’s wrist, then you’re going to heal it.”

Michael whirls around, tries to look for the speaker. “The _fuck_ I am,” he snarls, trying to put his body between Alex and… what?

He can hear Jesse’s impatient exhale. “If you don’t, I will. You’re on the clock, R-1. Two minutes.”

Michael’s seething. “He can’t, he can’t…”

But where Michael is furious, Alex is resigned. “Of course he can,” Alex says, bitter. “He can make us do whatever the fuck he wants in here.” He swallows, holds out his wrist, the one Michael just closed back up, the one with the shimmering handprint. “So we might as well get it over with.”

Michael is staring at him, horror on his face. “No, are you kidding me? I’m not gonna break your fucking wrist, Alex.”

Alex is staring at him, flat. “If you don’t do it, he will. If I know him, he’ll probably come in here with a goddamn hammer.” Michael flinches. “Make you watch.” Alex rubs his face tiredly, holds his wrist closer to Michael. “Come on, Michael, please.”

Michael bites his lip. “I… fuck, I don’t want to, Alex. I don’t want that, that memory. We’ve never, we’ve never hurt each other like _this_ , and I… I won’t.” Through the bond, he’s getting frustration. Fear. He circles Alex’s wrist with his hand and –

They’re in bed, in the Airstream, that incredible morning that Alex stayed, and there’s nothing but affection, and tenderness, and love, and…

“Michael?”

It’s Alex’s voice.

“What, what’s happening?”

And Michael suddenly remembers something Max told him, after he healed Liz. About the handprint, and memories.

“I think we are in my memory. With, with the handprint, if I touch it, I guess I can show you my memories.”

They’re quiet, then, as they watch the scene unfold, the caresses, the hushed endearments. It’s achingly tender, and Michael would give _anything_ to be back in that moment and have it end differently.

“We love each other,” Alex’s voice whispers, in Michael’s mind, in his memory. “We love each other so much.” He sounds awed.

“We do,” Michael affirms. His tone turns desperate. “Please, please don’t make me hurt you, Alex. If we go down that road, your dad, he won’t let us stop, and I couldn’t… I don’t want to hurt you.”

There’s still fear there, Michael can feel it. It’s his and it’s Alex’s. But there’s also a sense of… resolve.

“I understand,” Alex says, voice unwavering.

They come out of the memory, both a little overwhelmed. Far too soon, Jesse’s voice is back, goading them on.

“Break. His. Wrist.”

Michael grasps Alex’s hand tightly, squares his shoulders. “No.”

***

His wrist is infected. His dad, as expected, was a bastard about it, and it’s been days without treatment. Days without Michael.

He’s relieved, so relieved when Michael is finally shoved into the room with him.

Michael is pale, and by his side so, so fast.

“Didn’t know it would be days,” he says. Alex feels his pain through the bond, his concern. He offers up his wrist and tilts his head up to Michael for a kiss. Michael returns the kiss, but grimaces as he examines Alex’s wrist up close. Alex feels warmth again… healing. He’s hit with another wave of love. The intensity has increased, with the second handprint overlapping the first, and he can tell that Michael feels it, too. Michael eyes him, then, and holds his wrist more firmly.

They’re back in the UFO Emporium, watching their teenage selves kiss each other with abandon.

“Thought we could use a nice memory,” Michael says quietly, and they watch it play out, _feel_ it play out until Alex is suddenly snapped out of the memory.

Michael is sprawled out next to him, out cold. Alex sees the fine layer of yellow pollen.

“H-1? H-1?” It’s Jones’s voice. “What happened? You and R-1, it’s like, like you were in a trance. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Alex says. “I guess it was just part of the healing process.”

***

“When did you first notice that you had powers, R-1?”

“Pretty early. Not long after they found me.”

“What’s your earliest memory of your powers?”

“Getting angry at one of the group homes. Rattling some shit with my mind. Didn’t realize it was me, at first, but I caught on after a few weeks.”

“Outside of here, have you ever exhibited a power other than telekinesis?”

“No.”

***

“When did you first find out about aliens, H-1?”

“I mean, I was pretty young when ‘Independence Day’ came out, and ‘E.T.’ was kind of before my time.”

Jones glares at him. “When did you know that aliens were real?”

“A few months ago,” Alex says.

“How did you find out?”

“I broke into Dad’s Project Shepherd bunker.”

Jones nods at him. “We believe that R-1 arrived on Earth in 1947. That currently makes him over 70 years old.” Alex scoffs. “It makes him over 60 when he had sexual relations with you, a 17-year-old.”

Alex closes his eyes. “Really? Is that _really_ what you think?” He shakes his head. “My god.”

Her gaze is level. “When was the last time you had sexual relations with the creature in question?”

Alex’s mouth tightens. He’s actually… actually relieved sometimes that his sexuality makes his father so uncomfortable. He fears that with someone else in charge, he and Michael might have been forced, or… or pressured to, to do things…

“A few months ago,” he says, the words clipped.

“Did you know at the time that he was an alien?”

“No.”

“Now that you are aware of R-1’s true origins, can you think of anything different about him? Physically or sexually?”

Alex huffs a little breath. “No.”

Jones pauses, just a moment. “Do you trust him?”

Alex looks at her quizzically. “Do I…? Yes.” He leans in a bit. “Do _you_ trust my father?”

She ignores him. “You and R-1 have exchanged declarations of love, in here. We have it on record. However, the Master Sergeant has… very diligently tracked R-1’s sexual behavior over the years. For our purposes today, I’ll confine it to the partners since you returned to Roswell. Maria DeLuca. Alexandra Finch. Cristina Alonzo. Janet Remmer. Grazia Grant. Helen Akers. Jennifer – “

“Your point?” he interrupts.

“My point,” Jones says, slowly, “is that it seems convenient for the subject to suddenly be expressing such strong emotions toward you, when there’s been no recent evidence for that outside of your incarceration. If I were you, I would question his motives.”

Alex just stares at her. “In this shithole, his are the only motives I _don’t_ question.”

***

Michael’s just finished healing Alex, again. It’s happening too damn much. He’s drained, physically and emotionally.

It was his neck, this time. Seems Jesse was tired of physically injuring Alex, decided to branch out. Exposed him to live strep bacteria. By the time Michael was allowed to see him, he couldn’t even talk. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t, he can’t…

“What do you want?” he mutters.

Jesse fixes him with a cold stare. “I want you to do as I ask. Without question. You’re still holding back.”

Michael shakes his head. “Don’t know what you think I can do.”

Jesse’s mouth is a thin little line. “A few months back, H-1 and an accomplice blew up a test facility. There were a number of other aliens there.” An eyebrow arches. “Other times, other circumstances, he would have gotten a damn medal, but those aliens were well-contained. Test subjects.” A ghost of a smile is on his lips. “And we ran plenty of tests. Really put them through the wringer.” Michael’s jaw clenches. “You’re benefitting from that, actually. Back when there were plenty of you, I didn’t feel so bad really pushing the limits. Some made it, some didn’t.”

Michael can feel his fingernails digging into his palms, cutting into the skin.

“We don’t have the subjects any more, but we do have the data. Based on your DNA, you’re pretty closely related to one of them. Not sure how, though. Mother, maybe?” Michael freezes, and Jesse smiles. “She was something. We really pushed things, with her, and she certainly delivered.”

“What the _fuck_ did you do to her, Manes?”

Jesse is still smiling, satisfied at the outburst. “Oh, we did plenty. But the main thing that’s relevant to you is that she was a telepath. Very skilled. Could get inside a person’s mind, show them things, make them do things, find things out.” His face goes serious. “I believe you can do that, too, with a little practice. A little… pressure.” He taps the glass. “So rest up. We start tomorrow.”

Michael tries to fight back, in his way.

“You know… you know that if you mess him up. If you make _me_ mess him up…” He bites his lip. “If you kill him…” He trails off. It’s hard to even say. “If he dies, you get nothing from me. _Nothing_.” Michael licks his lips, squares his shoulders. “And so help me, if I see a shot, I’ll take it. Snap a neck, explode a head. Don’t think I won’t.”

Jesse chuckles lightly. “Oh, I believe you, R-1. But you’re forgetting something.”

Michael tries not to let his doubt show.

“You still have a sister.”

***

Jones peers at him. “You seem… resigned, today, H-1.”

Alex just stares at her, scoffs a bit. “Resigned. Yeah, I’d say I am. What else is there to be, in here?”

“You usually have a little more fight to you.”

Alex just shakes his head. “What’s the fucking point? I’m under no illusions that I could fight my way out. Maybe, maybe in another time, I’d consider it. Try to plot it out, execute it. But I’m missing a leg. You have my,” he swallows, “Michael. You have Michael.” And what he’s feeling right now from Michael… god. It’s the first time he’s felt hopelessness through the bond. A total lack of power. Defeat. And it scares him.

“You have Michael,” Alex repeats. “You even have my goddamn dog… I think.” He looks at Jones, questioning. He gets nothing in response, shakes his head. “Outside of here? I have nothing. Not a damn thing. There’s nothing to escape _to,_ if I leave without them.”

He licks his lips. “And I, I know my dad. Wish I didn’t but I do.” He stares at her. “If there was anything I thought I could do, don’t you think I’d do it?”

He leans back in his chair. “In, in training, they talk about shit like this. And it’s always hypothetical, because you never know how you’ll actually act when you’re in it. And me, like every other asshole, I thought that I’d be the one who wouldn’t break. Not me. Sooner off myself than talk.” He sighs and stares. “But all my training, it was for military shit. Secrets. Codes. Not, not _him._ ”

“In this place? If I could guarantee his freedom? His safety? I’d do anything.” It’s fierce, the way it comes out. The intensity takes him by surprise.

Jones is glaring at him. There’s a tick in her jaw. When she finally speaks, though, her voice is soft. Softer than it’s ever been. There… there’s _pain._ “It’s an awful position to be in. Questioning what you would do to keep someone safe. Agreeing to do… unthinkable things.”

Recognition hits Alex, and he freezes. She gives a nod, a nearly imperceptible one.

“But you know as well as I do that in this place, it doesn’t matter. Wouldn’t matter what you do. Or don’t do.”

***

Michael’s alone in a room with Buffy.

“You want me to what?”

“Make her pick up the ball and give it to you.”

Michael heaves a sigh, then hops off his chair and gets down on his knees. Sticks two fingers in his mouth, gives a whistle. “C’mere girl!” She trots over, and Michael rewards her with a vigorous rub down. “That’s a good girl. Can you go get the ball?” He forces a smile and points at the red rubber ball in the corner. “Get the ball!”

“With your _mind,_ you smartass.”

Michael smirks, at that, tries to hide it. He focuses at least a little, trying to ignore the worry and concern he’s feeling from Alex right now. He doesn’t think Alex has been without a handprint in weeks. Of course, that means he hasn’t been without an injury in weeks. Or an illness.

He messes around with Buffy a little more, doesn’t even try to influence her. Wouldn’t even know where to start. “Don’t think this works with a dog, Manes,” he calls out.

The chute opens, with a dog treat in it, and Buffy trots over to leave. Michael doesn’t really want to see her go, but at least it doesn’t seem that she’s been mistreated. It says something about Jesse Manes that he’s treated the dog far better than his own son, and Michael’s temper flares.

_I hope you piss in his goddamn face, girl._

“We will try again tomorrow, R-1, maybe with some additional, dammit, what the hell?”

The audio is garbled, cutting in and out.

“The goddamn dog – right in my face – dammit – clean this up –“

***

“I know you think you’ve won. I know this is how you define winning.”

Jesse scoffs and shrugs, arms open, as if to say _yes, of course._

But Alex is just exhausted enough, and just propped up enough by the trust, the support flowing through his connection with Michael, that he’s not done. Not today.

“But it’s not… not winning. Because I love him. And he loves me. And you, you can’t stop that.”

Jesse’s eyes narrow. “You’re pathetic. You know that? You think he loves you, son? His kind… they don’t love. You’re a means to an end, for him. Always have been. Why do you think he targeted you, back in school?”

This again. His dad is so fucking fixated on this. Alex is pointedly not looking at his father. He’s tired, and sore, and this is the last thing he wants to listen to…

Jesse’s right in his face now, but rather than yelling, he looks him up and down, and he whispers. “And now? Here? If that thing really loved you, he’d have already snapped your goddamn neck.”

***

Michael is naked. This is new.

The chair he’s strapped to is metal. Easier to clean. Just need to spray it down to get rid of any blood, any vomit, any… anything.

Lots of electrodes on him, now. Not the kind that monitor his brain activity or his heart. No, these are the ones that hurt. He reaches out with his powers, reflexively, like he does a thousand fucking times a day, desperately hoping this will be the time someone slips up. But there’s nothing.

“So this is what all the fuss is about.” Jesse Manes is circling him, looking at him, his body. His gaze is clinical, dispassionate. He shrugs. “I don’t get it.” He takes a seat opposite Michael, in front of an open laptop and an old-fashioned looking remote. “So I’m going to have you explain it to me.”

Michael says nothing, just watches Jesse finger the remote.

“At first, I thought maybe it was like, a ‘Species’ thing.” Manes is still raking his eyes up and down Michael’s body. It’s supremely uncomfortable. “But it was just you, acting like this. Not the Evans twins. And I tracked the girls, your sex partners, and nothing. No pregnancies. No hybrid _things_.” Manes leans back in the chair, casual. “Then I thought it was something else – pheromones, maybe? Like, was this your power? Seduction?” He says it like it’s the most distasteful idea he can think of. “Or some sort of biological cycle or need?” He shakes his head. “But there was no real pattern to it.” His expression hardens. “And it was all women. All but one. My goddamn son. He was 17. Confused. Weak.”

And that makes Michael scoff, roll his eyes.

“Why him? To get to me? Was he the only man you’ve slept with?”

Michael glares at him. “We live in _Roswell_.” He purses his lips. “Small town. Lots of homophobic assholes.” He widens his eyes, drops his voice. “Believe it or not, there are people that would fuckin’ maim you just for touching another guy.” The shock hits him immediately. It takes his breath away. “Fuck!” he gasps.

Manes is staring at him. “I’ve had enough of your goddamn attitude. So start talking. You’ve been sexually involved with half the fucking town, not to mention all the goddamn tourists. Why?”

Michael’s still trying to catch his breath. He shrugs, as much as he can with the restraints, and puts on his nastiest smile. “Guess I just like to fuck.” Another shock, stronger in intensity this time. He can’t hold back the pained sound he makes.

Jesse’s glaring at him. “So you’re really telling me that there’s no rhyme or reason to this? That you’re just some mindless, perverted _animal_ out there, rutting into whatever will have you?”

Michael shakes his head, frustrated and, yeah, hurt. “Fuck you, Manes,” he spits. He expects the shock, this time, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, Manes is looking at him. Considering him. “You know, I actually think you would.”

Michael goes cold.

Manes’s face is inscrutable. “Let’s be very clear. I would never debase myself with your kind. But I think you’d actually do it, if the price was right.”

_Yes._

If it meant that Alex could go free, walk out of here, _yes_.

He’d do anything, fucking anything. Michael knows that he would, hates that he would. And he looks at Manes, and knows that, in this moment, he knows it, too.

“I…” Michael starts. Swallows hard. “Abusive pieces of shit aren’t really my type.”

This time, the shock does come. Even Michael can tell it’s too much, too much…

He loses time before he comes to as Jesse smacks him in the face, hard.

“I should have killed you,” he’s saying, voice low and harsh. “I should have killed you ten years ago.”

“Then what are you fucking waiting for?” Michael shouts, pulls against the restraints. “Just fucking _do it_. Kill me and let Alex go. Don’t draw this out.”

Jesse cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’ll level with you. You’re the only alien I have right now. There are more I could acquire, but at the moment, you’re it. It’s why I’ve been so nice to you.”

Michael hangs his head, makes a disbelieving little sound. “Real fuckin’ nice, yeah.”

“You’re going nowhere. And neither is Alex. You corrupted him the minute you touched him in that goddamn shed.” And then Jesse pauses, narrows his eyes. “Unless…”

There’s that coldness again, that damnable chill that creeps up Michael’s spine…

“If you could make it so that my son forgot you ever existed, forgot that aliens ever existed… I’d consider it. I’d consider letting him go.”

Michael stares at him.

“We’re, we’re a long way from that,” he finally says, very slowly.

It’s not a no. Michael knows that Jesse knows it’s not a no.

Jesse smiles.

***

There’s pain, so much of it. It’s physical, but it’s more than that…

He can’t let anyone know about the connection. He _can’t_.

Alex bites his pillow and hopes no one sees.

***

Jones is knocking on the glass.

“R-1?”

Michael turns over in his bunk, away from the glass.

“R-1?”

Fuck, he’s tired today. Manes really wore him down, yesterday, with the shock and the threats.

Could he really do that to Alex? Mess with his mind? If it meant Alex could leave?

He’s been practicing with Buffy for weeks, but he hasn’t tried anything with a human yet. With Alex.

He certainly doesn’t want to.

Could he even fucking trust Jesse Manes? Like, even a little?

“I know you’re awake.”

Michael closes his eyes. He hears the chute open, hears the roll of a bottle entering the cell.

“It’s another special drink, R-1.”

***

Alex thinks he’s hallucinating.

The chute, the little chute into his room, the one that delivers food and water, however infrequently… it’s opening now, and there’s his prosthetic.

He looks around, listens, waits for the catch, the devil’s deal he’ll have to make. But there’s nothing. No explanation, no demands. He quickly hops over. The sock’s there too. He’s lost weight, including a lot of muscle, and it doesn’t fit quite right, but goddamn it’s better than nothing.

He hears the door to his cell open and steels himself for whatever is to come. It’s Jones, looking grim-faced and serious.

“Out. Out now, Alex.”

Alex. Not H-1.

His eyes widen.

“ _Now.”_ Her tone is urgent, and she actually looks a little… desperate?

He scrambles up off the bed and walks toward the cell door. If this is a trap, so be it. In this damn place, how could it be any worse than what he’s already endured?

Jones ushers him down the hallway, glances up at a camera, and stops. With just a glance, Alex can tell they’re in a blind spot, and for a wild second, he allows himself to _hope._

“Strip,” Jones commands. Before Alex can even protest, she’s pressing a uniform into his hands. “Right now. Put this on.”

Alex swallows, doesn’t break eye contact as he shrugs out of his scrubs, pulls on the dark guard uniform. Jones’s eyes sweep over him. “How many of these did he give you? Growing up?”

Alex’s jaw clenches. “Enough.”

She nods, tightly. “Hide your hair.”

He tucks it into the ballcap she gave him. She starts walking, a fairly brisk pace, and he struggles to keep up. She speaks loudly. “Thank you for making that delivery. The tissue samples will be analyzed at a lab in Colorado Springs. I’ll show you to the truck.”

Alex tries not to stumble, grabs at her arm. “Michael,” he whispers.

She shakes her head.

Alex sees the closet, uses all his force to push her into it. He can tell it surprises her, knocks the wind out of her.

His forearm is on her neck, pressing. “I’m _not_ doing this without Michael. Without Buffy.”

She stares at him, nostrils flaring. “He is an _alien._ ”

“I don’t care,” Alex growls.

Jones bites her lip. “I am giving you an out, Captain. You can go, right now, and all of this will be behind you. No aliens. No Project Shepherd.”

“ _Not without Michael,_ ” he says, teeth gritted.

And at that, Jones actually relaxes a bit, slumps against the wall. She looks at Alex and shakes her head. “You _do_ love him. It wasn’t an act.”

Alex is searching her face for signs of deception.

“He’s already in the truck. He and your dog. They’re in the back.” She holds up a phone, and there’s a picture, just like she said.

“Are they –“

“They’re knocked out. He wouldn’t leave you otherwise,” she says, and Alex nods at that.

“How long have you been planning this?” Alex asks her.

“Since the dog,” she says softly. “It should have been earlier. This, all of this is too personal. And you two…” She looks at him, then, sharply. “He was going to make him start the mind control trials today. On you.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t anymore.”

Alex feels cold.

“We’ve both been in a while, Captain, and you don’t get to this point without seeing some shit. Doing some shit. But this…”

And then she’s pressing keys and a piece of paper into his palm. Alex glances down at it, can’t read it in the dark.

“You’ll do what you will, when you’re out of here. But that… that’s what he has on me. _Who_ he has on me.”

Alex nods in understanding.

“Good luck,” she says.

Alex’s eyes narrow. “Wait, what are you – “

Jones’s mouth is a thin little line. “You know how this works, Captain. Your father tells me you blew up his last prison. Someone needs to make sure he’s inside. _Stays_ inside.” She heaves a deep breath. “Just drive, as far away as you can. Don’t stop. Don’t stop for _anything._ ”

They’re out of the closet, walking down the hall. She opens a door, and Alex is nearly blinded. It’s an overcast day, but it’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

“Just give us a call when you’ve completed the delivery,” she says, in full view of the cameras. Alex nods, tries to look at her, convey _something_ with his eyes, but she’s already gone, striding purposefully back into the building.

He walks to the truck, trying to look natural, unhurried. Looks in the back. Gets in the driver’s seat. Speeds away.

Doesn’t even look in the rearview when he hears the explosion.

***

He’s moving.

It’s dark, and there’s someone, something else in here with him.

They knock him out regularly, but it’s not usually this bad, and he’s never woken up in the dark before.

Something feels… off. Michael tries to stretch. Yes, definitely moving. He’s not hurt, no more than usual, and then he gets it.

It’s not that something’s _off…_ it’s that something’s finally back _on._

He closes his eyes and the van, because yeah, it’s a van, screeches to a stop. He hears the whir of wheels spinning against his power. He’s about to blow them out when the engine cuts and he hears the driver’s door slam.

“Michael?” he hears, and _no,_ it can’t be…

He’s crouching in the van now, hears the soft breathing of… an animal?

The door cracks open, and he reaches out with his mind, freezing the intruder in place. He hears a garbled, choked little noise.

He’s up, quick as he can. Sees, in the light, that it’s Buffy in the van with him, and then he’s opening the doors wider and –

“Alex!”

Alex still can’t move, Michael realizes, and he releases him gently. Without hesitation, Alex is right there, pulling Michael toward him, burying his face in his neck. Michael grips him, hard. There’s relief, pure relief flowing through the bond.

They say nothing for a long moment, both desperate in their need to touch each other, ensure that the other is here, alive…

It’s Alex who pulls away first. “We have to keep moving, Michael. I’ll explain everything, but we have to keep going.”

“I’ll sit with you, up front.”

Alex shakes his head. “No, you’re in scrubs. It’s suspicious.”

Michael hates that he’s right. “Hey,” he says, reaching for Alex’s arm. “Do we have anything? Money? Food? Water?”

Alex sighs heavily. “No. We have maybe an hour left of driving before we need to stop for gas. I… I haven’t worked out what to do yet.”

Michael nods. “When we stop, let me out. I…” he looks away, for a moment, then remembers that Alex can feel everything. “I think I can do things now, things I couldn’t before. Things you haven’t seen yet.” There’s a flare of concern, but not fear. It’s an important distinction, Michael thinks. “I can get us whatever we need. Money. Food. Gas. Motel. Just… just let me know.”

***

Alex has just watched Michael, clad only in scrubs, secure them a room at the rundown motel somewhere in Colorado. He told the clerk that they weren’t to be charged for the room. He told the clerk not to enter the room for the next three days. He told the clerk to forget he ever saw them.

The clerk nodded with a polite, “Yes, sir,” handed them a set of keys, and told them to enjoy their stay.

At some point in the future, Alex will ask Michael how he did it, what it feels like, the toll it takes on him. How, exactly, his father forced him into uncovering these abilities.

But right now…

Alex knows what he and Michael both need, both want. He can _feel_ it, a live, visceral thing.

They’ve both known, for a while now, that there is love here, between them, of a startling intensity. It’s been, if Alex is being very honest with himself, the only true source of hope he’s had for a while.

The ability to _act_ on that love, though? To use their bodies to express it?

That opportunity is finally here.

They’re on each other, fast, the motel door barely shut behind them. It’s… not gentle. Frantic is a better word. There aren’t _even_ words, just emotions and, by extension, complete understanding of what is needed in this moment. Michael strips off Alex’s uniform, careless of buttons, nearly animalistic in his need to have Alex bare before him, untouched by any sign of the awful place they’ve just escaped.

Alex, too, feels Michael’s wild desperation – or maybe it’s his own? Regardless, it’s so tangible, between them, in them, and he just needs to touch Michael. Grasp at him, hold him, scratch and grip and grab. Attempt to physically blot out the evidence of their captivity, overwrite it.

It’s fast, and just this side of painful. It’s nearly panicked, as if they can’t quite believe that they are here, able to do this. Alive and _feeling._ Michael’s hand finds the shimmering mark on Alex’s side, the latest one, and the connection flares up, so strong as to take them both off guard. They finish together, Michael buried deep in Alex, both gasping.

They don’t move for a long time, just riding out the sensations, feeling the live-wire crackle of the connection between them. Finally, in that wordless way, they go to the shower, and that’s when time slows. They look each other over, trace their altered bodies. They press kisses and muffle sobs.

The water runs cold long before they’re done.

They hole up for three days, venturing out only for the most basic of needs. The reassurance they’ve both craved for so long is now a given, made explicit by the bond.

They make promises. They make plans. And on the third day, they drive north.

***

Alex hears the telltale sound of their heavy, deadbolted door unlocking of its own accord, no key.

Their cabin is small, even smaller than Jim Valenti’s, but it suits them. Michael is gone for weeks at a time, off on well pads and drilling sites. The weather here can wreak havoc with Alex’s computer equipment, but he and Michael agreed years ago that it was an acceptable price to pay for the isolation. The... honestly, the peace. God, they'd needed it. For the first time in their lives, they'd been able to just _be..._ and be together. 

“I came as soon as I got your message,” Michael says.

Even after all this time, he still seems larger than life, to Alex. Brighter, somehow, than his surroundings. He takes off the knit cap – the toque, Alex reminds himself. He still hasn’t gotten used to the close-cropped hair, and Michael’s beard is so long, longer than ever. Alex lets himself wonder if he’ll shave it now, let the curls grow out again, like they were before...

He wants to tug on him, pull him into a kiss, and their bed. It's always like this when Michael gets back. After all they've been through, he thinks it will always be like this.

Michael is nearly breathless as he shakes the snow from his boots and jacket. “Is… is it really over?”

Alex gives him a short nod. “It’s done.”

Michael’s shoulders slump in relief. “Thank god,” he mutters, crossing to Alex and enveloping him in a tight hug. Alex holds him in place, snaking fingers under the coat, the sweater, the henley.

“You, Max, and Iz are officially wiped from all government databases,” he murmurs. “So is all evidence of Project Shepherd. Caulfield. Greengate.” Such a benign name for such a nightmare of a place.

Michael pulls back a bit, reluctantly. “Isobel?”

“On her way here now. She lands in Yellowknife in an hour.”

“Alexis?”

Jones’s daughter. “Still safe.”

Michael fairly collapses into the beat-up leather couch opposite the fire. Buffy trots over, licks at his boots.

Alex sinks down next to Michael. “We did it,” he says, and Michael grabs his hand, hard. Presses it to his lips. He’s shaking.

“Together. We did.”

***

And so, in the end, what _had_ mattered wasn't the hatred, the violence. The fear and the pain. 

No, what _had_ mattered, what had made it through all of this...

It was love. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and thank you to Addy for the excellent prompt! I hope everyone is having a good holiday season.
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr (aewriting). Feel free to say hello!


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